


Champagne, Kisses, and More

by ponderinfrustration



Series: Always Be There [10]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: M/M, NSFW, Pharoga - Freeform, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: Erik and the Daroga are celebrating the tenth anniversary of the night they got together, and kissing leads to much more.





	Champagne, Kisses, and More

Afterwards, they are not certain which of them leaned in first (it was Rahim, definitely Rahim). The champagne left it all a blur, sweet on their lips and numbing their memories, leaving their fingers clumsy. (Erik’s fingers only fumbled a little bit as he opened the buttons of Rahim’s shirt, and though it took Rahim two attempts to open Erik’s trousers button, his hand was smooth when it came to rest on the bare skin of his hip.)

It was coming all day, in truth. All day in glances, and smiles, licking of lips and slight shifts of expression. It is admirable, really, that they maintained such self-control, held themselves together until finally the champagne pushed them over the edge. They held on, smiling and composed, until after Christine and Raoul left with little François, and Darius retired early for the night, setting a second bottle of champagne in an ice bucket on the coffee table. They were almost finished the first bottle at that stage, and Rahim grinned at Darius, and Erik reached out and took his hand and squeezed it. And he knows that he did not imagine the tears in Darius’ eyes as he smiled back at them, and nodded. “Enjoy your night,” he said, and squeezed his hand back, before he slipped off to his room, and left them alone together on the couch, smiling at each other from opposite ends. Erik’s legs were stretched almost the length of it, lying against the back, his feet crossed up beside Rahim’s belly, and Rahim’s legs were on the outside. He swung one leg down, and leaned over towards Erik with his champagne glass, and Erik stretched out a hand and grasped the open bottle of champagne, then struggled up enough that he could fill Rahim’s glass.

And it was then, in the meeting of their eyes, that Rahim leaned in just a little more, and their lips met. Erik gasped into his mouth, and it was not a gasp of shock or surprise where once it was (where ten years ago tonight it was) but of relief, pure and simple, and Rahim’s glass fell to the floor with a dull thud. (The thought came incongruous, a faint whisper in the back of Rahim’s mind, that at least he had made his move before Erik filled it, and he chuckled into Erik’s mouth.)

Erik pulled back, a faint smile tugging at his lips, and set the champagne bottle down. “What’s so funny, my love?” And his voice was hoarse, as Rahim giggled again, and kissed his cheek, and whispered, “You.”

Erik chuckled, a chuckle that plucked a chord somewhere deep inside Rahim, made him gasp, heat burning beneath his navel. “Do you think we ought to,” and his eyes flicked down to Rahim’s lips before meeting his gaze again, “retire to bed?” The question held more than the suggestion of sleep, and Rahim felt an answering smile spread across his own face.

“I do think it would be best.”

And that is how they have found themselves pressed together beneath the sheets, memories of the preceding events already faintly blurred. Erik’s hand is gentle, softly possessive, curled around Rahim’s side, his thumb stroking smooth circles that make Rahim shudder, make him ache to feel that hand, that thumb, rubbing circles elsewhere, and he shifts his hips, his trousers slightly too tight, and feels Erik smile against his neck as he presses another kiss.

“I take it I am having something of an effect.”

The words rush straight to Rahim’s navel, make him flutter inside, but he cannot answer, only gasp as Erik’s fingers slip from his side to his nipple and tweak it. The pain is a sharp tingle, and Erik nuzzles deeper into his throat.

(Sometimes, Erik is immensely grateful that he does not have a nose. It makes intimacy so much more comfortable without one getting in the way.)

And then it is Erik’s turn to whimper, because Rahim’s hand has wandered from its position on his hip down, down, to his inner thigh, and the skin here is so thin, so delicate, that the simple brush of fingertips is enough to make Erik’s breath catch, and his hips buck into Rahim, but Rahim can only smile.

“Serves you right.” His voice is barely more than a croak, and he shifts, moves so that he can see Erik’s face and not merely feel it against his neck, and Erik’s eyes are heavy-lidded as Rahim presses a kiss to his forehead, and another one, and another one, and Erik moans, his hips slowly rocking back and forth as Rahim continues his ministrations. And he kisses Erik fully on the mouth, and Erik gasps into him, his hands clutching at him, pushing his shirt off and grasping at his shoulders, and they are both gasping, gasping and kissing as Rahim pushes Erik’s trousers down, down from the soft swell of his hips, down to his knees, and then he is fumbling at the buttons of his own trousers, getting them open, his heart pounding hard and Erik’s heart pounding against him and whose heart is pounding the fastest Rahim cannot tell only that it is so warm here beneath the blankets and the sweat is beading on his skin and Erik is whimpering words into his mouth that he cannot make out and he once dreamed that something like this was impossible, was beyond anything that he might ever hope to know, and all it took was wine and chess that night and who leaned across the board first he has never been able to remember but it does not matter and he does not care and his skin burns at Erik’s touch, at his hands rubbing his back, and Rahim is fumbling open the buttons of Erik’s shirt so that they are pressed skin to skin, and Rahim’s heart is pounding so hard that it is difficult to breathe, difficult to get a full breath, and those golden eyes he has loved so well, for far more than the ten years he has been allowed to, those gold eyes are rolling, Erik’s hips thrusting into him, and Rahim is thrusting against Erik, his own pleasure getting closer and closer, and then he can see those eyes no more, only stars bursting across his vision and he hears a strangled cry though whether it comes from his own throat or Erik’s he cannot tell, and he is sinking, sinking deeper into the bed, deeper into Erik’s arms, and it is Erik’s turn to press soft kisses to his face as he catches his breath, his eyes flickering closed.

Closed, until he feels Erik’s fingers twining with his own, and the soft press of lips to his knuckles, and he blinks and sees that face before him, Erik smiling.

“You look utterly debauched,” he whispers, and Rahim’s eyes trail over Erik, over his thin mussed up hair and his kiss-swollen lips and the scratches on his chest where Rahim’s nails must have raked him and down to the general stickiness covering his abdomen, and then he meets his eyes again and yawns, and smiles.

“Speak for yourself.” He shifts into a more comfortable position, his muscles aching, reminding him that they are not young men anymore, and sleep heavy and sated he raises the hand that Erik is not holding and curls his fingers around the back of his neck, and draws his head down. “But I,” he whispers, brushing his lips over Erik’s, “would not,” a kiss, “have it,” kiss, and Erik sighs, “any,” kiss, “other,” kiss, “way.” And he tilts his head, and presses the kiss deeper, and Erik sinks into him, a heavy familiar weight that he has treasured for a whole decade now, and hopes to treasure for many, many more.

 


End file.
